Adam Snow & Zac Steele Have Sex Again

Adam Snow has already shown Zac Steele the sweetness of gay sex. Now, with fond memories of their first time, they’re back in the tent, hungry for more. This time it’s even better because Zach isn’t as inexperienced as he used to be.

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Zac freezes when Adam’s dirt-streaked frame rounds the trail bend. The guy’s shirt clings to sweat-drenched pecs, canteen tipped back as he drains the last drops. Their boots stall inches apart–Zac’s throat tightens. Adam’s musk hangs thick between them: pine resin, salt, heat. Zac’s pulse thrashes–kiss him, scream, fucking move–but his limbs betray him.

The neckerchief snags first. Adam yanks the fabric, slamming their bodies flush. His mouth crashes into Zac’s, teeth scraping lips, tongue claiming without apology. Zac’s knees buckle; Adam’s iron grip keeps him upright. The taste of him–earth, exertion, recklessness–floods Zac’s senses.

No words. Calloused hands steer Zac toward the tent, shoving him through the flap. He stumbles, breath hitching as Adam strips, cock already hard. Zac’s mouth waters–muscle memory takes over. He swallows Adam’s length, hollowing his cheeks until the man’s thighs tremble, fingers snarled in Zac’s hair.

The power shift comes fast. Adam flips him, face pressed into a sleeping bag. A wet tongue licks stripes up Zac’s spine before spearing his hole. Zac claws at nylon, gasping through the stretch.

Adam’s cock breaches him raw. Zac arches, back bowing as every inch sinks deeper. His hips roll–a perfect, bruising rhythm–and Zac whimpers. Flashes of prior nights swarm him: Adam’s thrusts carving space inside Zac no one else touches.

They shift. Adam’s on his back now, Zac straddling him. Those glacier eyes pierce through him, hips never stalling. Zac’s cock leaks onto Adam’s abs; the man licks it clean, smirking at Zac’s strangled moan. It’s too much. Not enough.

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